Loneliness
A cavalry officer named Charles asked Karen to marry him, and she turned him down. Its better to be single than to get a freeofcharge service for a lifetime, she muttered. Whats the point of being alone, Kat? A man shouldnt be on his own, and a woman always needs a husband. Otherwise it feels wrong and nobody will ever notice you. Loneliness, you know what that is?
Which one? Karen replied, sighing at the endless chatter of her mother, Margaret.
Loneliness is a nuisance! Margaret chortled, barely noticing the sarcastic tone of the conversation. Its like wanting to give water to someone who doesnt even have a glass. Kids are the same, you see?
Where? Karen asked, halflaughing.
At the corner of the garden! Margaret finally realised that her daughter was smiling despite the sarcasm and pushed Karen gently. Youll get everything you need, and Ill keep an eye on you. Being alone is tough, but a quiet soul makes a good companion. Lets meet, shall we? Charles is a decent bloke, but the one who doesnt run away and suddenly appears
Karen had been on her own for about a decade. Her benefactor, a kindly gentleman who had once swooped in like a knight in shining armour, had turned up ten years ago, briefly, then vanished. When Karen learned of this, she started two separate relationships, then two more affairs. Though the suitor tried to convince her that once is enough and nothing strange happens without a partner, she remained unmoved. The affair soon ended.
When her husband left, he did so politely, leaving his former wife and two children with a tiny allowance. The children migrated in all directions. The son settled in Peterborough and found work, while the daughter married and moved abroad with her husband. Karen stayed alone in a snug onebed flat in central London.
Living alone didnt bother her. She worked as a seamstress, a respectable trade that paid the bills, and she lived comfortably, often hosting her children and Margaret for tea. Though she wasnt a genius, she always kept herself busy and never got bored. She read a lot, swam, did yoga, loved travelling, and occasionally helped in a restaurant for a bit of extra cash. All in all, she was content.
Then Margaret, ever the matchmaker, tried one more time to steer Karens fate.
Listen, love. A good bloke, not too old, maybe sixtyone, with a spacious farm, a solid estate, and plenty of livestock cows, goats, pigs, chickens but no horses, for heavens sake! Its healthy food, you know: milk, eggs, meat. Youll live to a hundred, I swear! And the farmers a charming, welleducated fellow who talks like hes read every book on the subject. Give it a go, why not? Lets meet, eh? Margaret pleaded, as if Karen might finally cave.
Fine, Margaret, meet your farmertype, I suppose, Karen replied, though she hadnt promised anything.
They say you cant change a thing thats already set. So Margaret, not wanting to linger, quickly arranged a meeting between Karen and the cavalry officer.
The cavalry officer turned out to be quite something. Sturdy, muscular, welldressed, with clean hands and neatly trimmed nails. He looked polished, spoke a little shyly, but was quick with jokes, entertaining the crowd for hours. His name was a solid English one Ian.
After the first meeting, a second one followed, then a third. Karen began to keep an eye on Ian Katerine. She thought perhaps the right match could give her a steady soul companion. Ian, however, kept hinting at a partnership, saying hed already thought about marrying soon, perhaps even an adventure with her.
Karen invited Ian to the countryside to have a look, and he agreed. There, his farm stretched out: fields of corn, a few cows, a couple of pigs, a handful of chickens. No fancy tractors, just a simple barn and a modest house. The workers were a pair of lads, both of foreign descent. Ians sales were modest sometimes meat, sometimes milk, occasionally a few eggs. It seemed Karen might even become a small part of Ians business.
Ian said, You see, Kat, Ive got plenty of work. A farm needs help. The workers are good. If you want to do something proper, do it yourself. Youll be a wife, you wont miss out on anything, and youll keep everything in order. Well need a few hands for milking, goatkeeping, eggcollecting. The house needs a roof! Ill certainly kill a cow if needed, but a womans hand and a good eye are better than any mans. Lets make it happen, shall we? The spring is coming, time to sow.
Karen went home and thought it over. What did she really need? She already had a cosy flat in the city, a decent job, a small plot of garden where she grew herbs in summer and sometimes baked a loaf, and a car shed bought eight years ago. Why would she want to swap all that for a dusty farm, cleaning pig pens, milking cows, and tending to chickens that never lay golden eggs?
Besides, she still had to cook dinner for herself, tidy the house, maybe buy a new handbag for the upcoming winter, and keep an eye on her mothers health. She didnt need a farm to survive; her pension was enough, she could even afford a little splurge now and then.
All the musthaves for a comfortable life were already hers. So why bend her back over a field, mash potatoes in a barn, or wrestle a tractor? It didnt make sense.
One evening Karen called Margaret. Mum, Im sorry, but Ill decline Ians proposal. Maybe hell find someone else, a ploughhand who enjoys that sort of life. Ill stay single, thank you. Loneliness isnt so bad when you have a good book, a cup of tea, and a roof over your head.
Margaret sighed, Alright, love. I suppose youll keep your freedom.
Karen smiled. She sent a quick text to Ian, politely refusing, and hung up. She got up at eight the next morning, made a simple breakfast, and sat by the window watching the city wake up. She thought of her son in Peterborough, her daughter abroad, and of the little things that made her life pleasant. She grabbed her bag, slipped on her coat, and headed out, content with the life shed chosen.
